Christmas 1969: After Cam Ranh
by Sandilynn Petersen
Summary: War doesn't take breaks for the holiday season but on Christmas Day 1969 there was a truce declared if just for a day. With the events in the POW camp and Cam Ranh Bay behind them, the team should have been in a festive mood. Should have been.
1. Chapter 1 Man Missing

Christmas 1969: After Cam Ranh

Chapter 1 Man Missing

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

"Where d'ya think the fool _is_ , Faceman? He's gonna miss out on Christmas dinner if he don' get his scrawny ass over ta the mess hall." B. A. grumbled more to himself than to the blonde Lieutenant as he slammed the door to their hootch.

For the third time in an hour, he peered around their living quarters as if the pilot might be hiding under a cot or in one of their lockers. He growled when he noted nothing had changed since the last time he checked. Face was in the same place doing the same thing he had been doing the last two times.

Even if the crazy pilot drove him nuts most of the time, the black Sergeant had to wonder why Murdock wasn't hovering around them, urging them to move faster toward the feast that awaited them. Days before, they had all received a copy of the menu along with the message General W. C. Westmoreland himself had penned to be printed on the bulletin. The meal would be as complete as the United States Army could provide in this godforsaken land.

It was a sorry substitute for being with his Momma for Christmas and gorging himself on her home-cooking. But it was better than nothing at all.

Murdock and Christmas Day were a toxic combination. It was a day when the Sergeant knew he would have to try his best to be halfway tolerant of the crazy man's antics if just because it was Christmas and his Momma taught him to be charitable toward fools on that day.

But he couldn't practice his more charitable nature if the pilot wasn't to be found on Christmas Day.

"He might not be very hungry." Face set aside the Playboy magazine he had been enjoying and let his gaze wander around the immediate environs. To be truthful, he was worried about the manic pilot as much as B. A. seemed to be. Ever since Murdock landed his chopper yesterday with its load of wounded, dying and dead soldiers, he had been quiet.

 _Quiet?_ The conman scoffed silently at his word choice. _Hell, Murdock's been almost catatonic._ _How_ _was yesterday's extraction any different from all of the others he's done since he's been over here?_

B. A. continued to growl under his breath. "It ain' like he don' need the meal. He still ain' up ta fightin' weight. It's like he wasn't at Cam Ranh with us at all."

Cam Ranh. Face frowned in remembrance. The convalescent center was an oasis compared to the POW camp they had so recently come from. Something inside Murdock had changed since the events that led to their escape and eventual rescue from that nightmarish hell. All the medical care and good food in the world wouldn't heal the internal wounds Face knew both of them carried from their captivity.

 _Changed? Hell,_ the Lieutenant thought bitterly, _let's face it. My buddy hasn't been right since the third or fourth time the guards took him for interrogation._

And when they left the Cam Ranh Bay Convalescent Center, they came back to a hootch as empty as if they were arriving in Nam for the very first time. All of their belongings had been sent home because no one believed they would be returning.

For Face, it wasn't such a big deal. There was no one to receive his personal effects except maybe Father Maghill. And being an orphan, he had few, if any, personal effects to deal with.

It was heartbreaking to watch Murdock open his locker only to find nothing in it. Even though the Captain wrote long letters to both his grandparents and the girl who was waiting for him back home as soon as he could, he moped around for a week or longer. It was as if he had left a big part of himself behind in the POW camp.

Thank God the military was quick to let the folks back home know they were no longer POWs. He couldn't imagine how miserable the holidays would be for his team mates' loved ones otherwise. Despite the humidity of the day, the con man shivered.

Once they knew the men were safe, B. A.'s Momma and Murdock's grandparents must have worked extra quickly to get together Christmas parcels for the two soldiers. Even though he had no one to do the same for him, the Lieutenant was happy for his friends. And the package had seemed to lift Murdock's spirits for a moment even if B. A. had to pressure him into going to mail call to get it.

But then the cloud of whatever happened on the last dust-off the pilot completed settled back on him like a funeral shroud and silenced him again.

Face looked over at B. A.'s cot and glimpsed the opened care package he had received from home. Where the pilot's package was, the Lieutenant had no way of knowing. Maybe Murdock was sharing what he got from his grandparents and his girl back home with his flight crew.

 _Yeah, I bet that's it._

Even though he thought that might be the reason for the pilot's absence, he wasn't sure.

 _Today is no time for my buddy to be down in the dumps. Even if I have to get him stinking drunk to make him forget what happened, he's not going to miss Christmas by moping around._

The Lieutenant took one last longing look at the Miss September centerfold, tossed his magazine on his cot and stood up.

"Look, B. A. I'm going over to see if his crew chief's seen him. Wanna tag along?" Face didn't wait for B. A.'s answer but heard the grumbled words, "Crazy fool" as the Sergeant followed, slamming the door shut behind them.

The Lieutenant wasn't sure if Murdock's new crew chief _would_ know where the pilot was. Murdock was still getting used to him and might not have told him anything. It took time to build trust.

B. A. caught up to him halfway to the airfield. "He better have a good reason for us havin' ta look for him."

Face gritted his teeth against the frustrated tone in the other man's voice. _Better not to answer. At least, not until we find out exactly where Murdock is and what he's doing._

When they got to the hangar where the flight crew would ordinarily be, they found no one. "They're probably celebrating somewhere." Face glanced at B. A. and continued to walk toward the airfield.

"Like we should be, man." B. A. clenched a fist and smacked it into the palm of his open hand.

The Lieutenant felt his temper rise. His face reddened as he spun suddenly and faced the black man. "Look! I didn't _order_ you to come along. I asked if you _wanted_ to. You can go have your Christmas dinner with my blessings. _I'm_ going to find my buddy."

B. A. froze where he was and tightened both hands into fists. His scowl normally would have made Face back down.

Then B. A. moved past him toward the airfield and the rows of blast walls that shielded aircraft from rockets and mortars.

"Where are you going?" Face shouted after him. "You're going to miss your dinner." He waited for an answer, then sneered, "Isn't Christmas dinner what you wanted?"

The Sergeant growled something over his shoulder but continued to walk.

The Lieutenant had no choice but to sprint after him to keep up. "What'd you say?"

"I said," the Sergeant huffed, "the fool's prob'ly polishing his chopper an' talkin' to it like it's his girlfriend."

Face couldn't argue against that. They all witnessed how much time and care the pilot took with the chopper he was assigned.

He knew every detail of the machine, maybe even more than his crew chief did. He rejoiced when it operated better than usual and mourned when a bullet wounded it. To Murdock, the Huey was like an organic being working as one with him to perform whatever duties the Army chose for him to do. So for the pilot to be talking to the machine wasn't so hard to believe.

 _It makes sense. But God help Murdock if that's what he's doing. B. A's in the right mood to kill him if he is. You don't dare get between B. A. and his food._

The Sergeant became more sullen with each revetment bay that they passed. "Where _is_ that fool?"

"Well, here's Murdock's chopper." Face pointed, then put a forefinger to his lips as B. A. started to grumble.

From somewhere within the three walls of the revetment bay they both heard the sound of sloshing water and what could be described as a scrub brush on metal. What was missing was the hearty singing that usually accompanied most of what Murdock did when he was with his slick. And that fact alone worried Face even more.

"Told ya," the Sergeant muttered as he pushed his way past Face and toward the chopper.


	2. Chapter 2 Clean

Christmas 1969: After Cam Ranh

Chapter 2 Clean

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

Face watched as the black Sergeant stopped at the cargo door and leaned in. "What ya think you're doin' . . . " The words died on his lips.

B. A. backed out of the door and continued to stare. He subconsciously unclenched his fists at the sight in front of him.

Face felt his mouth go dry and his guts turn cold. He couldn't speak, not knowing what quenched B. A.'s wrath so quickly and effectively. He forced his feet to move until he stood beside the Sergeant.

"I thought you two would be in the mess hall enjoying your Christmas dinner." The familiar voice was somewhat muffled by the ever-present cigar.

"Colonel?" The Lieutenant stared at his CO who knelt near the door of the Huey on his hands and knees, a scrub brush in one hand and a bucket of soapy water beside him. Murdock was in a similar position on the opposite side of the cabin. As Face watched, the Captain ran his hand over a portion of the floor, muttered something unintelligible and applied his brush to the metal with renewed fury.

The Lieutenant's heart sank. He didn't know which was worse: Murdock in an almost catatonic state or Murdock scrubbing the floor of his chopper like his life depended on it.

 _Doesn't he know we're here?_

Hannibal glanced at the pilot and answered Face's unspoken question with a small shake of his head. For a moment the older man seemed to hesitate. Turning sideways, he touched Murdock's shoulder. "I'll be back to help you finish this up, Captain. I want to talk to Face for a few minutes."

The other man didn't respond but continued to scour the floor and mumble to himself, his gaze on the spot he was cleaning. The Colonel waited for a second, then resignedly patted his shoulder before climbing out the door of the chopper.

"Take over, B. A." Hannibal handed the brush to the Sergeant. The black man numbly accepted it and climbed up into the Huey. After a moment's hesitation and a brief glance at Murdock, the Sergeant began scrubbing where Hannibal left off.

The Colonel grasped Face by the elbow and led him to the rear wall of the revetment.

"Do you mind telling me what's going on, Colonel?" the Lieutenant hissed as soon as they were out of earshot.

"I thought _you_ could tell _me_. His crew chief came to me. He said Murdock just about bit his head off." Hannibal stood, hands on his hips, cigar in his mouth, keeping his eye on the chopper's side cargo door.

Raising his eyebrows in disbelief, Face looked in the same direction as his CO. "That doesn't sound like Murdock at all. What did Ellison do?"

Hannibal raised a hand to remove the cigar from his mouth. He scrutinized it as he spoke. "Ellison claims he saw Murdock come to the airfield with a package under his arm. He followed him out here to give him a full report on the maintenance work they did. As soon as Murdock looked at the floor of the chopper, Ellison says he got mad and started swearing at him, accused him of slacking in his duties." Hannibal shook his head in puzzlement. When he glanced again at Face, he added, "Ellison thought Murdock had snapped. He reported it to me so I came to have a talk with our pilot and find out what's going on."

"And?" Inwardly, Face groaned, realizing he was right to be uneasy about his buddy's mental state after all.

"When I got out here, Murdock's package was open on one of the seats in the front and he was in the back with that scrub brush and bucket of water, cleaning the floor of the chopper and mumbling to himself." Hannibal rubbed his chin with one hand and glanced at the Huey again. "He doesn't seem to even know I'm here but I thought if I helped him, maybe he'd come out of it."

Face stuffed his hands in the pockets of his fatigues and frowned down at the ground.

 _Yeah. Normally he would have. But he hasn't been acting like himself since . . ._

"Damn it!" Face muttered, raising his head to stare at the tail of the slick.

The older man analyzed his expression before asking the question the Lieutenant knew he was going to ask. "Did Murdock seem bothered by anything in the past couple of days?"

Face sighed and drew his hand through his hair in frustration. "Well . . . Yesterday he was doing ash and trash runs. There was a lot of wounded and dead on Murdock's chopper when he came in the last time. You know him. He wades right in to help. I didn't think it was anything he hadn't handled before . . . " The Lieutenant stopped, suddenly remembering.

Hannibal looked at him sharply. "What was different about it?"

"There was one guy. Murdock was pretty insistent the medics take that kid before any of the others. He singlehandedly dragged him . . . what was left of him . . . " the Lieutenant swallowed hard, "off the chopper. I think he would have carried him to the hospital himself if the medics hadn't stopped him." In spite of the humidity and heat of the day, Face shuddered.

The Colonel puffed on his cigar and waited.

Face was thankful for the time to collect his thoughts. To be truthful, he wasn't sure why that one soldier had affected Murdock the way he did.

"As soon as Murdock cut the engines, you could hear the kid crying and babbling hysterically, not making much sense. I guess I wouldn't either if I knew both of my legs had been blown off from the knees down. Someone had retrieved as much of them as they could find and laid them in the chopper beside him." The Lieutenant shook his head in confusion at the memory. "Maybe they thought the surgeons could somehow piece the kid back together."

Again, the older man waited.

Face wished Hannibal would say something. But it looked as if the Colonel didn't want to rush him.

 _Maybe I should be glad about that. I'm never going to forget what that kid looked like when I saw him._

"Before Murdock could get him all the way out of the chopper, the kid died. It was like Murdock didn't believe he was dead. He kept yelling for the medics to help him. And when they didn't, he sank down on the ground with that kid in his arms. He didn't move until they came to take the body." The Lieutenant rubbed his eyes with one hand as if the action could erase the memory.

"So who was the kid? Do you know? Did Murdock tell you?" Hannibal kept his voice low.

Face shook his head. "He's hardly said a word since then."

"My guess is that Murdock still sees that soldier's blood on the floor of his chopper and he's trying to scrub it away and maybe the memory with it." Hannibal chewed on the end of his cigar for a moment, considering what had been said. Then he headed toward the cargo door. "So we help him do just that. Maybe if all of us are there, he'll open up and talk about it."

 _Or maybe not,_ the younger man thought bitterly as they made their way back to the cabin compartment of the Huey.

As soon as they got there B. A. grumbled, "Don' know what we're doin'. Floor looks clean ta me." Even though Hannibal shot him a warning look, he continued his complaint. "Ain' no way ta spend Christmas Day."

If Murdock heard the mutterings, he didn't respond. The sound of the brush on metal became harsher, the Captain's movements more frantic, his gaze riveted on the spot in front of him.

Face didn't know what made B. A. angrier, whether it was the way Murdock continued to scrub the same spot over and over or the way he seemed not to notice anything but what he was doing. Before any of them could stop him, the Sergeant tossed his brush in the bucket, sloshing water over the side.

Swiveling to look at the pilot, B. A. leaned close to his face and roared, "Floor's clean enough, fool! It's time ta stop!"

The Sergeant's sudden enraged outburst startled Murdock. With haunted eyes he saw B. A.'s scowling face within inches of his. He skittered toward the other open door until he was within inches of falling out of the chopper backwards.

"Watch out!" Face reached out to him on impulse but the Sergeant was in his way.

 _He didn't know anyone was here. I'm sure of that._

Moving faster than either Face or Hannibal thought he could, B. A. grabbed the pilot by his shoulders and jerked him away from the doorway and the three foot drop to the ground.

Murdock threw his arms up in front of his face instinctively as the black man released him. His breath came in short quick pants as he curled his upper body over his bent legs. He didn't make a sound but sat trembling, his face hidden by his crossed arms.

"That's enough, Sergeant." Hannibal didn't need to say anything. B. A., as surprised as the others with the pilot's reaction, had already backed away to give Murdock space. Face ran his hand through his hair again, not sure the change in his buddy was an improvement over what he had witnessed in the past twenty-four hours.

 _At least he knows we're here now . . . maybe . . ._


	3. Chapter 3 Memory

Christmas 1969: After Cam Ranh

Chapter 3 Memory

Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.

"Why don't you see if you can talk to him now?" the Colonel murmured to Face. The younger man solemnly nodded his agreement. His focus was already entirely on his friend.

"Let me get in there, B. A." Face stepped aside to allow the Sergeant room to get out of the chopper. As the black man backed out of the way and got to his feet to stand beside Hannibal, he shook his head. "Didn' mean ta do anythin' ta him."

"It's okay, B. A." The Colonel said it absently. His attention was on the interaction between the Lieutenant and the pilot.

Face climbed into the cabin and carefully crept on hands and knees to within a foot of his friend. Feeling the water from the bucket soaking the legs of his fatigues, he grimaced.

 _At least the water can't be very dirty as much as this chopper has been cleaned since yesterday._

In a voice that was almost a whisper, he began the process of talking Murdock back to reality. "I'm here, buddy. I'm here." It was too soon to reach out with his hand and reassure Murdock with a physical touch. There was no telling how he would react.

Still kneeling, the Lieutenant sat back on his heels and waited for a sign of recognition. The tremors passing through the other man's body lessened but there was no other reaction.

"B. A. wasn't trying to hurt you. You were going to fall out and he kept you from doing that. That's all." Face kept his voice low and non-threatening, almost like he was trying to reason with a child.

 _Am I so sure at this point I'm not?_

Behind him, he heard Hannibal murmur, "Keep going. You're doing fine."

"We're all just worried about you. We don't understand why you want to spend most of Christmas Day cleaning . . . " Face stopped, knowing the words sounded harsher than he intended.

 _But it's true. We don't understand._

Slowly, cautiously, the pilot lowered his arms and raised his head to look at Face. His expression was a confused melange of horror, anxiety and uncertainty. For a moment, he stared at his friend, and then out of the open cargo door at Hannibal and a repentant B. A.

"I . . . can't . . . leave 'er . . . dirty . . . " The voice, husky with emotion, faltered. His gaze dropped to the spot on the floor he had scrubbed so furiously. When he lifted his eyes again, he was frowning. "Th' blood . . . don' ya see it?" He glanced quickly at each of them. His voice hinted of his desperation as he pleaded, "Don' ya see it?"

Hannibal cleared his throat and gazed at the spot as if willing the stain to be there.

 _He probably thinks Murdock won't be able to handle it if we tell him the truth._

B. A. stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes averted to the ground at his feet. Except for shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he remained silent.

Face was thankful for that.

 _At least he isn't saying what we all know to be true. Murdock's hallucinating but B. A. isn't going to call him crazy out loud._

"I'm th' only one that sees it, ain' I?" Murdock muttered. "Guess I should o' let 'em sen' me t' a psych ward after all." Face noticed the pilot begin to tremble again, barely noticeable but still there. He clapped his buddy on the shoulder just to keep his friend focused and with them.

 _Not off in that nightmare he remembers from yesterday._

Face's touch seemed to bring Murdock back from the bloodbath he thought he saw. The pilot searched the other man's eyes for something he could hold onto, then stared down at the metal he had been scouring. He ran one shaking hand over the surface of the floor.

Finally Hannibal lied for the three of them. "We don't see the blood because you cleaned it all up."

Murdock swung his tormented gaze up to look at Hannibal. His anxious brown eyes scanned the older man's expression. Face silently prayed the Colonel's reasoned response was enough. His heart sank again when the Captain picked up the scrub brush.

Hannibal didn't seem to notice as he continued. "Now if you think the job is done, maybe we can all go to the mess hall for that Christmas dinner. It would be a shame not to take Uncle Sam up on a feast like that."

For a moment Face wasn't sure his friend would accept that answer.

Murdock frowned down at the brush in his hand and seemed to be struggling with a decision. When his friend swallowed, the Lieutenant knew the pilot had managed to overcome the delusion. After a few seconds, he set the brush aside and carefully wiped his hands on his pants.

In a choked voice, Murdock answered, "Yeah, guess so." Taking a deep breath and straightening his shoulders, he got to his feet. Face noticed he peered down at the floor one more time before reaching into the cockpit to retrieve his package from home.

Face nodded his thanks to the Colonel for saying what he did, then stood up. He saw the visible relief on both Hannibal's and B. A.'s faces and wondered if his expression showed the same thing.

Murdock moved past him toward the door without another word. Face felt he had to say something to alleviate the mood.

"And later we can go and find ourselves a bottle of whiskey to celebrate the day in style," the Lieutenant suggested as he followed Murdock out of the chopper. "How does that sound?"

The pilot said nothing at first. For a few seconds he stared over his shoulder at the spot on the floor he had been so careful to scrub clean.

Then he resolutely turned away and gave his friends a weak smile. "Only if it's th' good stuff."

Face breathed a silent sigh of relief. "When have I not been able to get the good stuff for a day like today?"

oooooo

Murdock sat with his back against the sandbags stacked up against one wall of their hootch and took another drag from his cigarette.

Scattered gray clouds picked up traces of pink and pale yellow from a setting sun too low on the horizon to see. The pilot knew that the clouds could easily fill the sky in minutes and unleash a deluge of rain. He hoped they wouldn't.

 _Then 'gain, it'd match th' mood I'm in._

Beside him, about a foot away, Face relaxed, his legs straight out in front of him. He was close enough to pass the remains of the latest open bottle of whiskey they were sharing. The Lieutenant's eyes were half-closed against the smoke from the cigar he enjoyed, the spoils from a poker game earlier that evening.

The pilot sensed that Face was watching him but for what reason he was being monitored, he had no idea. Passing it off as just another small episode of his own paranoia, Murdock heard his stomach gurgle a protest.

 _At least I ain' gonna be pukin' my guts out anymore t'night._

Remembering the last hour, he regretted eating as much as he had in the mess hall. And following it up with as much whiskey as Face offered him.

 _What a waste o' good food. Wasn' much fun havin' it all come back up on me after we got done with that bottle . . . 'r was it two . . . 'r three . . . bottles?_

He squinted through the cigarette smoke at his friend just in time to see the Lieutenant look away.

 _Th' only reason Face'd be watchin' me so much is if Hann'bal said he had to. I must o' done somethin' so crazy they're wonderin' 'bout my sanity._

He frowned when he realized his memory of everything from morning until now was fuzzy at best.

 _One good thing 'bout losin' my meal. I ain' nowhere near as drunk as my buddy._

He wasn't sure he wanted to ask too many questions about his day because he might have to answer some Face directed back at him.

 _'N' would I have th' answers?_

His friend nudged him in the arm. The glass chilled his skin where it touched him. "Drink up. Last bottle."

Murdock pasted a good-natured smile on his face and shook his head. He waved his hand in dismissal, accidentally jostling the bottle with his fingertips. "Think I've had 'nough. In fact, I'm _sure_ I've had 'nough."

 _B'sides, I gotta try 'n' r'member so th' guys don' think I'm goin' nuts on 'em._

"Is there such a thing as enough?" Face shrugged when his friend didn't respond and tipped some more into his mouth. Swallowing it, the Lieutenant let a contented sigh escape.

"I'm pretty sure Gramma'd skin me 'live if she knew how I spent Christmas Day over here." Murdock winced at remembrance of the photo enclosed in his Christmas care package. He was glad for the photo his girlfriend Cyndy sent with the other things but it reminded him of how much he was missing at home.

While he was in the POW camp, his beloved grandmother suffered a stroke. The photo, now taped to the door of his locker, showed his grandfather standing behind Murdock's grandmother's wheelchair. His arms enveloped her and both of them grinned like a couple of high schoolers in love.

 _'cept Gramma's smile ain' th' same. If I'd been there maybe . . ._

"Guess you'd better not tell her. You've got my word _I_ won't." Face's voice hinted of mischief. He tipped the bottle once again and tossed it to his side when he found it empty.

"You don' even _know_ my Gramma 'n' Grampa," Murdock muttered.

"When we get back home maybe you can introduce me."

" _If_ we get back home, muchacho." The pilot stared at the sky, now growing deep blue. All traces of the sunset had disappeared and one or two stars sparkled among the patchy black clouds. A memory from earlier that the liquor had started to blot out flickered at the edge of his meditations.

 _There's somethin' 'bout those words . . . somethin' happened . . . someone . . . died?_

"Well, that's an optimistic thing to say." Murdock glanced sharply at his friend and found Face frowning at him.

"Didn' mean nothin' by it." The pilot crossed his arms over his chest and relaxed back onto the sandbags. The brim of his cap dipped low to hide his eyes from the Lieutenant's view. "Meant nothin' at all by it."

An uneasy silence filled the space between them as Murdock tried to piece together the meaning behind what he said.

 _If we get back home? I s'pose I could o' meant any one o' us might not o' made it outta the POW camp. But I don' think that's what . . ._

"We've all seen our share of guys who won't ever go home, at least not in one piece. You've probably seen as much as I have, flying those dust-offs like you do." There was something to the tone of Face's voice that suggested he was probing for something. Maybe the bit of information Hannibal pressed him to find out.

 _Dust-offs . . ._

When the memory hit Murdock, it hit full force. The perilous flight back to base . . . the bloody stumps where legs had once been . . . the kid's delirious, frightened babbling . . . his own effort to get the young soldier medical attention . . . the final realization that his efforts were fruitless . . . the vain attempts to wash away the kid's blood . . . the way it was all etched in his mind.

And the face and name of the boy he had held in his arms as he breathed his last. He drew in a ragged gasp of air as he remembered.

 _Oh God, how could I o' forgot? Did I block it out?_

His mouth went dry. A feeling akin to panic rose inside him.

 _No, not panic . . . more like feelin' helpless 'n' lost . . ._

Face needed to know why he had reacted in the way he did. He needed to know why Murdock saw blood when he looked at the floor of his chopper.

 _'N' Hann'bal . . . is Face gonna tell Hann'bal 'bout it?_

He wasn't sure he could say it and keep his emotions in check even now. He was glad for the cover of darkness and the brim of his cap that would hide the moist trickle of tears on his cheek.

"His name was Luke Summers. He lived down th' road from me back in Texas. He was one o' those tag-'long li'l brothers ev'ry group o' good friends puts up with."

Images of Luke and his brother Stu weaving their way to the back of the school bus where he and the rest of the guys sat flashed through his mind. Murdock bit his inner lip hard to stay in control of his emotions. "'N' I didn' even know he was over here 'til yesterday."

He heard Face swallow hard. "I'm sorry, Murdock," he murmured. "God, I didn't know."

The pilot acknowledged the sympathetic response with a grimace.

 _Yeah, I know yer sorry. So 'm I. If only I was faster . . ._

Pushing his cap back, the pilot raised his eyes to the sky once more. Maybe he was searching for a sign, a special star, that would tell him Luke wasn't really dead.

Nothing was there but the same stars from minutes before, playing hide-and-seek with the clouds.

"No way ya could o' known, muchacho." Now that he remembered, he didn't know what else to say or do.

"No way you could have known either," Face insisted.

Murdock waved away the statement. "I'm okay."

 _Face wants t' help but he don' know how. 'Nother mem'ry t' lock way deep inside. 'N' only I can do that._

A puff of artillery smoke in the distance caught his eye.

"Look!" He pointed as the star shell exploded with a muffled _boom_ and a green parachute flare floated lazily in the air. Another joined it, this time with a red glow. Others followed, all in red, amber or green.

"I thought the truce was supposed to last until midnight. Damn them! The brass should've known we couldn't trust them." Face spat out his anger.

Murdock smiled weakly, despite the grief and pain in his heart. "Naw, Face. It ain' Charlie. Someone's celebratin' Christmas with their own dec'rations."

They sat in silence, watching the lights flare and slowly fade. They reminded Murdock of sparks from fires he and his high school buddies sat around during camp-outs. Who knew when they were telling ghost stories and roasting marshmallows that some of them would soon be fighting overseas for their country?

 _Or dyin' for it?_

He lit another cigarette and drew on it as if to blot out the memories. Blowing out the smoke in a slow stream he muttered, "Ya know what I'd like t' do if I could get 'way with it?" He stared straight at the brightest star.

 _Maybe if I try hard 'nough I can 'magine Luke's up there somewhere enjoyin' th' lights, too. Or maybe Luke's one o' those stars lookin' down on us._

Face murmured in a slightly slurred voice, "No. What would ya do?"

Murdock smiled. It was crazy but he had to say it. "I'd like t' take my slick up there 'n' gather up all th' lights 'n' stars 'n' save 'em in my locker. Maybe I'd hang 'em back up in th' sky when we need cheerin' up."

 _'N' I could see if Luke's spirit's somewhere up there. Maybe even tell 'im how sorry I am._

Face chuckled. "You know what, buddy? I'd almost help ya do it if I wasn't too drunk ta stand up."

"Well, it was jus' a crazy thought anyhow. Merry Christmas, Faceman."

"Merry Christmas, Murdock." Face drifted off to sleep then and left Murdock to his memories.


End file.
